Herbal Monographs

Hawthorn

Hawthorn not only protects the physical heart in ways that we can objectively measure such as blood pressure and cholesterol levels, it also nourishes the soothes the spiritual and emotional heart. Herbalists regularly use hawthorn as a general relaxing nervine as well as for heartbreak and grief.

-Herbal Monograph on Hawthorn, HerbMentor

Cursing mountains doesn't make them smaller. Cursing regrets doesn't wipe them clean.

He should never have said those things.

Knew better than to let his anger ride him. And yet...

Jaskier granted his latest wish himself--so drawn and silent, so without malice, that Geralt's own outburst was a knout by contrast.

He was a week out of the Caingorn Mountains before the thorns of his anger dulled.

...a week before he realized he hadn't watched for Jaskier on the trail back to Hengfors.

...a week before he realized he had no idea where the bard was at all. If he was even alive.

...before he felt the weight of the marks against his ledger as stones in his chest and set out in search of news. When the inns of Hengfors produced nothing, he took to the road, charting a course through upper Redania. Unnamed hamlets. Small crossroads towns. Had a bard come through?

After several weeks, he heard familiar songs sung under the breath of children and townsfolk, and followed the melody.

The path led away from the coast--from Blaviken--bringing him closer to Ghelibol. What sleep he got was under the stars, unprotected in the grasslands. Trees signaled settlements, and Geralt urged his horse on as he saw their crowned branches in the distance.

They entered the crossroads village at a lazy pace so Roach could rest, and Geralt scanned the houses for something that looked like a tavern. Children darted about, squealing and chasing farm animals. Several of the homes belched peat smoke, because the tree cover could not be wasted on firewood. He'd seen even rows on the way in that looked like an orchard--a doubly poor choice for fuel.

A girl stood by one of the whitewashed houses picking flowers from a tended garden. Geralt glanced up the road. Then he heard a hummed tune and half-wrong words and pulled his horse to a stop.

The girl.

He backed Roach up a few paces, and the girl went silent as their shadow passed over her. She stared up with wide eyes.

Geralt smiled a little at her. "That was a lovely song," he said. "Where did you hear it?"

She didn't move. And he could hear her little heart pounding out fear. With an inward sigh, he changed tactics.

Geralt swung himself easily down off his horse and came around. He knelt to bring himself to eye level, and thought gentle non-threatening thoughts.

"Can you tell me where you heard that song?" he tried again.

The girl rolled her lips over her teeth and then looked up the road. She lifted a hand and pointed to the crossroads.

"The market square?"

She nodded.

"How long ago?"

That was a harder question, and her small face screwed up in thought. She counted off on her fingers and then showed him two.

Two days. Two days was almost nothing. Two days he was practically there.

"Are you a demon?" the girl asked suddenly.